Markan Throne Read online

  Zandra understood the unspoken part. Glancing around at the men in their purple cloaks and purple-lined helmets, she knew that, hardened as they were, they saw no point in killing people who offered no resistance. Their eyes were tight with anger and revulsion. She could almost feel sorry for those responsible if these men caught them. Almost. "I'd like to go and see."

  Mansard looked startled. "There's no obvious danger, ma'am, but it's not a pretty sight over there. They've been dead since maybe last night, and the carrion eaters have been at them."

  Zandra glanced again at Bascon, who still shook and heaved, then steeled herself. "Take me across, Commander."

  Mansard inclined his head and beckoned for a spare horse. The door of the carriage creaked open and Zandra looked around.

  "You will stay here, Eleka. Sna alut."

  Eleka's earpoints twitched. "Se batut. But, anya, I would like to go to Callie and Sallie while we are stopped."

  Zandra paused before nodding assent. It would be cruel to keep a mother from her daughters. Zandra's three daughters and infant son were under the care of their governess, in the carriage behind her own. Kaira would keep them inside and away from the horror of the caravan. When she returned, she would visit them. She watched as Belaika's wife, taking her time, made her way to the carriage that held most of the sylphs.

  She mounted the horse brought to her. "I'm ready, Guard Commander."

  Mansard touched his shoulder with a fist, before touching spurs to the flanks of his horse.

  The journey was short. Zandra enjoyed feeling the wind on her face, no matter how short the distance traveled. The racket from the carrion eaters as the men again chased them off spoiled the ride. Her horse whickered and snorted as they came to a halt.

  Thankfully, the stench of death did not hang in the air; none of them had been dead long enough for that. As Mansard had warned, the sights were not pleasant. Three Guard Officers dug a large grave for the corpses now laid face down in an attempt to keep the carrion off. Zandra knew what the birds would have eaten first.

  Even if early in the year for flies, a few gathered around and on the bodies, rising in small clouds whenever someone approached. Gaping wounds where skin and muscle had been stripped away to leave protruding bones were very much in evidence but she knew carrion eaters, not human murderers, were responsible for that.

  Seeing the smaller bodies saddened her and she sighed at the sylphs' blue corpses among the rest. The raiders had even less reason to kill the sylphs than their owners.

  "We'll bury them together," said Mansard. "Even the sylphs." He sucked in breath over his teeth. "Difficult to tell in some places what belongs to which corpse."

  Zandra nodded. "What about the caravan?" she asked.

  "We'll leave it," replied the Guard Commander. "The wagons are empty and the horses have been either driven away or stolen."

  "All right," she said, quietly. "I've seen enough. As soon as we're finished here, we move on. One more thing. If we catch the people who did this, they will face the wrath of the law, in accordance with the law." She looked at Mansard. "If we catch them attacking another caravan, I know you will act to protect those in danger."

  Mansard nodded. "As you say. I will pass your instructions to the men."

  Returning, Zandra paused beside Bascon, who had recovered some of his usual spirit. Dismounting, she patted the sylph on his shoulder and he looked up, earpoints briefly twitching upwards. She turned to Mansard.

  "Your sylph deserves a rest," she said. "Someone else can scout ahead when we move on. We do still have human scouts?"

  "We do."

  Bascon stared at Mansard, his eyes betraying a desire to speak. Mansard nodded.

  "Donanya." The sylph bowed his head. "Thank you for your kind words, but I rest when we stop again. I am fine."

  Both female sylphs looked at the scout and one thinned her lips. Bascon held up a hand and both sniffed in disapproval.

  "Very well." Zandra smiled, exchanged a look with Mansard and turned away, surrendering the reins of her horse to an officer. She made her way to the carriage behind hers, where the delighted yells of her children greeted her.

  She hoped they were safe.

  ***

  Bascon found an excellent place to stop for the night and Zandra marveled at his ability for finding good halts. Sheltered on three-and-a-half sides by trees and bushes, a stream gave plenty of water for cooking and drinking. Little wind found its way through the trees and bushes and, even better, the carriages were all but hidden from the road. The sylph said he thought the campsite had been made at some point, but in Zandra's view, this did not detract from his achievement.

  Once the carriages had formed their defensive ring, the guardsmen curried the horses, checked hooves for anything out of place and ensured the animals were fed. The sylphs and officers' wives prepared a meal, all under the watchful eye of Mansard's senior wife, Kelecan.

  A disapproving scowl twisted her face as, hands on hips, she watched everyone at their tasks. Most stepped carefully around her, though Zandra noted that sylphs belonging to Mansard showed no wariness whatsoever.

  Growing up in Calcan, she had always liked the company of "Aunt" Kelecan. Zandra knew that Kelecan respected only her husband. She ruled his household absolutely, ready to crush all dissent with strong words and hard stares. Zandra could not choose whether husband or wife was the harder.

  A sense of calm soon returned to the carriages after the bustle of setting up camp. Kelecan's blood pressure receded slightly and several sylphs, blue-faced with mortification, washed up under her direction. None belonged to Mansard. The Guard Commander stood beside the road, chatting with his scout. Zandra crossed to join them.

  "Good evening, Zandra." Mansard bowed and Bascon followed his example. "Looks to be a fine night ahead, unfortunately."

  "Unfortunately? I tire of mists and cloudy nights."

  "Fine nights are known as raiders' nights in some parts." Mansard's gaze riveted her in place. "As we have seen today, these are certainly raiders' lands. With your permission, I'll double the guard."

  Zandra nodded, but said nothing. Mansard would double the guard with or without her permission and she would not even call him down for it. He was the soldier. She turned to the sylph. "Have you recovered?"

  The sylph bobbed his head again. "Yes, donanya." His earpoints twitched and he colored slightly, obviously embarrassed by his earlier shock.

  "Go and see if Kelecan needs help with anything," commanded Mansard.

  "Se bata." Bascon bowed and left.

  Mansard watched him go with an amused look. "That lad doesn't know what's happening to him one day to the next," he chuckled. "He loves the field, but misses his wives whenever he's in it. When at home, he whines incessantly to get out in the field again. Now, he's in the field and his wives are here."

  Zandra raised an eyebrow. "Haven't they helped settle him?"

  Mansard laughed aloud. "Aye, Mayula and Geneha want to settle him right enough. Trouble is that they both gang up on him about it and then wonder why he wants to bolt for a bit. He still hopes that I'll return to frontline service." He lowered his voice. "He feels they're too demanding."

  "Too demanding?" Understanding dawned and Zandra covered a giggle with a hand. "Poor Bascon!"

  "I don't think he can survive them being here while he's in the field. He wanted them to follow in the next caravan from Calcan with the rest of my family." Mansard chuckled. "But they insisted on traveling with this one."

  Zandra nodded. Of course, several caravans would leave Calcan, bringing more soldiers' families with them, all protected by more soldiers, some of whom would travel between Marka and Calcan several times before everything and everyone were again in place. More of Mansard's household and half her own staff followed in the next caravan.

  "Two more days," continued the Guard Commander, "and we should be in Marka."

  "I look forward to seeing the city," smiled Zandra.

  "Ev
erybody does," replied Mansard. "Everyone should see Marka at least once in a lifetime. Though I reserve judgment until I see it for myself."

  ***

  Hingast Rexiter stood in his stirrups and swore. He clutched the spear in his right hand and sawed ferociously at his reins with the other. His head turned, seeking his prey. Stilling his prancing horse, he settled back to listen for movement or panicky breathing. The sylph hid from the hunter somewhere nearby. Hingast waited; the creature could probably see him and would now lie low until the predator left. He stood in his stirrups again, trying to see. Despite their blue skin, sylphs were very good at hiding in almost any terrain. A problem that added interest to the hunt. A sylph became almost invisible when he lay still. He glanced towards the forest, certain his quarry had not reached the safety of the trees. Once the sylph was in there, Hingast knew he would lose him. And a good escape, which he would respect.

  The rhythmic thrumming of hooves on the hard ground swung Hingast's head around. Who dared interrupt his hunt? His blue-gray eyes widened as he recognized Dervra, his closest advisor. And the only person in the world Hingast feared. Not that he ever showed it, of course.

  "You will allow my kill to escape," he complained.

  Dervra looked unconcerned. His iron-gray hair flapped in the wind and his lined face betrayed no emotion. "There are more important things to worry about than escaped sylphs," he retorted, dark blue eyes glittering. "Both Vintners have arrived in Marka."

  Hingast did not ask how Dervra came by his information, only that he could believe whatever the man chose to pass on from his intelligence. Hingast respected – and feared – the power of the man, one of the Ten. He sometimes wondered if the Ten were immortal as rumor claimed, but the older man always seemed to know when Hingast's thoughts were murderous. Hingast tried to avoid all ideas or mental pictures of killing his advisor. If the rumors were true, he would fail if he tried. A lingering death probably awaited anyone brave or foolhardy enough to plunge the knife into Dervra's ribs. Or even try.

  "Did they arrive together?"

  "Of course."

  Hingast sniffed. Although he pressed his claim to the Markan Throne, he knew he had little chance of the Supreme Council recommending him. To claim his inheritance, he must take Marka by force. How he looked forward to that day! He continued to scan the wild scrubland for the missing sylph before turning back to Dervra.

  "There are more lands to conquer before I am ready for Marka," he said, eventually.

  "When the Vintners unite, they will be strong enough to crush you."

  "When I appear outside Marka's gates, they will unite against me anyway," he retorted. "Even if my men in Marka do their work better than expected, they will still be stronger."

  Dervra inclined his head. "I have other contacts in Marka. The Vintners are about to suffer quite badly, I fear. They –"

  Hingast glimpsed something blue moving from the corner of his eye and dug spurs into his mount's ribs, galloping after the fleeing sylph with a delighted whoop. In seconds, he had run the unfortunate creature down and his spear flashed in the sunlight.

  Thin cries, fading almost immediately to nothing, reached Dervra's ears. He sighed; he couldn't care less what happened to the sylph, but he felt slightly piqued that Hingast had so rudely dashed off before he had finished speaking. He watched as the claimant returned, cleaning his spear.

  Carrion birds already circled above, waiting for the live humans to get out of the way so the feeding frenzy could begin. Blue meat was better than no meat and by nightfall, little would be left of the dead sylph but scattered bones.

  The glint of bloodlust was still present in Hingast's blue-gray eyes. "Very well. I shall do as you suggest. We'll continue to march on Marka."

  "Your Majesty is wise and will, if I may say so, make an excellent Emperor." The advisor smiled, masking his true thoughts.

  Hingast bared his teeth. "When I have destroyed Marka, I will build us a new empire."

  Dervra smiled, but said nothing.

  ***

  "Outside with you."

  Aylos Jalan shooed the two sylphs and single human out of the stone barn. He had worked here ever since an experiment had gone disastrously wrong and caused his compatriots in the industrial quarter to raise a petition against him. Marka's Supreme Council could not ignore a petition with so many signatures.

  So, while discreetly continuing to support him financially, the Council had politely suggested his work might best be done outside the city walls. Far outside the city walls.

  After initial protests, Aylos had grown used to the quiet outside the city and quickly established himself at the old farm. The whitewashed farmhouse with its thatched roof offered warmth and comfort, and the barn, once converted, had proved an adequate laboratory. His family remained in the city, but his two sylphs and human apprentice had come out here with him.

  Not a typical man of science, Aylos was almost entirely self-taught. Apprenticed at age fifteen, after his early work on fire-causing powders first came to the attention of the authorities, his master had shown little interest and signed him off as qualified for the Guild quickly to be rid of him. Many believed Aylos mad, but he knew different. More importantly, the Supreme Councilor thought the same. Firepowder could – would – make Marka invincible.

  Aylos repeated the shooing motion. "Are we leaving today? Lovely spring day out there, you know."

  Prototype rockets stood around the walls of the barn. Some were intended to be fired into the air to rain fire on an enemy, or explode to frighten his horses. Others were supposed to be fired directly at an enemy, exploding the moment they hit something.

  Only he couldn't get the mix for the powder exactly right.

  Aylos stared again at the black explosive. The last lot had fizzed in a most satisfying manner, but had failed to power anything. The two sylphs had spent weeks making fresh powder with more charcoal and that crushed to a finer grade. This time, he trusted things would go according to plan.

  He picked up the small metal container, which held the wooden ball of firepowder. It should explode. He attached the fuse and left a good length.

  He looked up again, disappointed that nobody had moved. "Outside. Now," he snapped.

  Despite his irritated tone, his sylphs crowded him as he left the barn, eagerness lighting their eyes. They were as excited about the experiment as their owner. The apprentice, a young man rapidly approaching his majority, followed more sedately. Obert was always rather more laid back than his master. He ignored Aylos's irritability as easily as the sylphs. Obedience clearly meant different things to the young and sylphs these days.

  The area Aylos used for his trials lay well away from the buildings. A stone wall within running distance of the small pit had been built for observers to hide behind. Unfortunately, everyone had grown a little blase about the need as every experiment so far had failed. It now caused some trouble.

  "Baylan, Tredden, behind the wall please."

  The sylphs' earpoints wilted slightly.

  "No arguments." Aylos stared at them, his pale blue eyes hard.

  "But, enya, it has never been dangerous –"

  Aylos cut Tredden off before he could go much further. "No argument," he commanded. "Behind the wall."

  As the two sylphs obeyed sulkily, Aylos helped Obert set up the box. He ensured the wooden ball still held the fuse, which he poked through the metal container, leaving a long lead. Obert passed the burning slowmatch to his master. The older man nodded and the apprentice trotted to the wall to join the two sylphs in safety. Aylos put the match to the fuse. Once sure it was burning, he ran across the short distance to shelter. This had better work.

  "Any second now," he whispered.

  Tredden sniffed, still sore at being cut short. Baylan kept his head down.

  A muffled boom reached them and the ground shook for a split second. The sylphs, eyes wide, stared at their master. Aylos and Obert grinned at each other before emerging from behind the
wall. And for once, the sylphs were happy to follow, rather than run ahead.

  The metal container lay on one side, lid blown off and body distorted. Of the wooden ball, only blackened shards remained.

  "It worked!"

  Obert did not shout, but his pale green eyes glittered with excitement.

  Aylos danced on the spot. "It bloody worked! Oh, thank you, Siranva! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

  Obert cleared his throat. "I suppose we must trial the rockets now," he suggested.

  "Yes, yes, yes." Aylos's eyes glistened. His tone suddenly changed. "There isn't enough powder to trial all of them."

  Obert shrugged, but remained silent. He knew there wasn't enough powder to trial the rockets; he'd told the sylphs not to make too much in case this batch also proved a failure. No point in wasting effort on something that might not be a success. Now it had worked and someone had a lot of work to do. He glanced at the sylphs. Two someones.

  Tredden looked annoyed, his earpoints lashing to and fro. "I suppose we must make more of that powder," he grumbled, showing the perception common in sylphs.

  "Yes you must," agreed Aylos, absently. "And to the same standard, or I'll have your ears!"

  ***

  Verdin Vintner, son of the claimant Branad Vintner, was just twenty-one years old and the nominal Crown Prince of a Markan Empire that did not yet exist. He reveled in his freedom from the armored carriage. His mother, sisters, half-sisters and his father's second wife stayed in the carriage, as they had since leaving the plain. Verdin had no idea if his father had met and clashed with Marcus Vintner there, or even whether he still lived, but he harbored no regrets about leaving Candin Plain. A sizeable battle had occurred there only days before. His female relatives chose to fear the worst and refused to leave the carriage. He turned to Marshal Mikhan Annada.

  "Is there no way of telling who won the battle?" he asked, for the fortieth time.

  Mikhan looked at the prince. His deepset blue eyes were calm. They were always calm. "Not until we reach Marka, Highness," he replied. "We do not even know if your father was involved in it."

  "Seems likely."

  "Yes it does. There are no other armies large enough to leave behind such a mess." Nearer seventy than sixty, Mikhan had seen many battles and remained as alert and sharp as ever. He had fought under Staflan Vintner, his son Ulvic and, finally, his grandson Branad.